


You'll love it.

by Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool being Deadpool, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pre-OT3, Puppets, Wade Wilson Breaking the Fourth Wall, WinterWidowHawk, ponicorn, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/pseuds/Alistra
Summary: All I wanted was to contribute to WinterWidowHawkFest 2020."You'll never get these idiots to fuck each other without my help," said Deadpool.Oh boy.(Warning: Contains Deadpool being Deadpool and obliteration of the fourth wall. Also Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff a ponicorn and, apparently, yours truly.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26
Collections: Winterwidowhawk Fest





	You'll love it.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/gifts), [CloudAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/gifts).



> Immense amounts of gratitude to everybody who's held my hand as I tried to figure out formatting. 
> 
> La_Temperanza for her [Deadpool thinky boxes tutorial](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384112) and both the be_compromised and Marvel Big Bang discord servers. 
> 
> I planned to gift this work to the incomparable CloudAtlas for spending literal HOURS trying to make this work with me and for being the most patient of friends.  
> Then I gifted it to myself as well because COME ON it was hard work and if ever I am to make a gift to myself, it's going to be of the story that tears down the fourth wall like wet tissue paper.
> 
> Last but not least; dear Deadpool: Niemand hat die Absicht eine Mauer zu bauen.

When Clint finds him, Bucky is standing in front of the large mirror of the men's room, focused entirely on the water droplets that are running down his hands to drip into the basin. The soft squeak of worn chucks on the floor doesn't rouse him, his posture unnaturally still.

"Hey there." Clint's voice is calm and collected, even if on the inside, he's coiled to spring into defensive action. These days, nobody knows what a startled Bucky will do, but it doesn't take a genius to realize that wherever his mind goes when he suddenly zones out like this, it's not a place anyone wants to follow. From what Clint can see, the left hand is almost dry by now, the skin of Bucky's right making the residual moisture cling longer than metal, so he must have been frozen like this for a while. A precautious arm's length away, Clint leans sideways against the row of sinks.

"Bucky?"

Finally, as if surfacing from deep slumber, he turns his head, blinking the faraway look out of his eyes.

"You know where you are, pal?" Clint gives him an encouraging smile that has a hard time reaching his eyes. It's too familiar, the sense of disorientation, even years after Loki, does it make shivers run down his spine to recognize it on another man's face. Even more so on a friend's.

"Avengers Tower," Bucky reports without inflection, then jerks his head as if finally really coming back to his senses, taking in his surroundings with quick assessment. "Men's room, 89th floor."

"That's right." Relief is visible on Clint's face as he claps a reassuring hand on the broad shoulder; it turns into a reluctant grin when the gesture is met with a hesitantly grateful look instead of hostility or fear. He pulls a couple of paper towels from the dispenser by the wall and hands them over.

Nobody expected that Clint of all people would be the one to get through to Bucky after he was cleared to live in the tower at the end of SHIELD's lengthy examination process. Their final report that they've 'removed enough of his triggers' to warrant this first baby step back towards an autonomous life is little more than cause for bitter amusement.

What a wonderful world this would be, Clint thinks, if mental triggers could be removed as easily as faulty pieces of machinery. Even if they are moderately sure these days that there are no more hidden kill orders hibernating beneath the surface of consciousness, regaining this unique life's memories comes with more than enough traumatic associations.

Apart from Natasha, Clint has turned out to be able to relate to that best.

"You wanna join us for lunch?" he offers, long since aware that the promise of food is the easiest way to get Bucky to agree to anything. "I've bet Natasha that I know how to make pizza from scratch."

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good," Bucky nods, drying his hands with brisk efficiency and visibly glad not to be questioned about where his mind has just been. "Didn't know you can cook."

"Might've been a Reed Richard's kind of truth. Unusually flexible," Clint grins and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "Maybe when I give the sign you could distract her so I can do some strategic googling."

Bucky huffs a laugh, turning to throw away the used paper when suddenly, startling them both, one of the toilet stalls flies open, door crashing into the adjacent one with a bang.

[[Pheeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwiiie! I wouldn't go in there for a while if I were you!]

exclaims a tall, red-clad figure, hopping from one foot to the other and swivelling their hips in the undignified dance of everyone who's ever slid back into tight spandex.

{How dare you! I am the very **picture** of dignity!}

Bucky shoots Clint a confused glance at the seemingly unprompted outburst. His knuckles are white with how tightly he grips the throwing knife he's conjured up from who-knows-where.

[Hey squirl friends!]

Deadpool drawls joyfully, stepping over to the row of sinks to start soaping his gloved hands as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Wade," Clint acknowledges warily, returning his hand to Bucky's shoulder as a signal to put down the weapon. "What are you doing here? Weren't you banned from the premises?"

[I go where I am needed, not where I am wanted, young padawan,]

Deadpool replies solemnly, tilting his hooded head to emphasize eye(mask)-to-eye contact, continuously pumping the liquid soap dispenser. White, viscous liquid is overflowing past the sides of his palm and down between his fingers onto the counter.

[Can you hear me alright or are you deaf in this story? Sorry, I didn't stop to look at the tags.]

At the empty click of the dispenser, he finally moves over to the sink where he adds water. Squelching noises fill the room as his gloves disappear under a mountain of bubbles.

"...the fuck?" Bucky asks, clearly worried he's in some kind of hallucination.

"Regrettably I can hear you just fine, Wade," Clint sighs before adding: "JARVIS, would you please warn the rest of the team that Deadpool is in the tower?"

The drain is fighting valiantly to contain the deluge of surfactants, but it's no use. Bubbles are rising from the sink's overflow outlet and everything smells faintly of artificial milk and honey.

"...and maybe send someone with a mop to the 89th floor."

"Right away, Agent Barton," the AI confirms.

"Who _is_ this clown?!" Bucky growls, critically eyeing the crossed katanas on Deadpool's back.

[I may be a clown, but at least I was never a murder-child - although,]

{hey Ali, what kind of backstory are you giving him in this fic? Is it the **creepy WWII baby assassin sidekick** one or are you handwaving all that to get to the **sexy sub-plot**?}

(Oh my God! Don't talk to me! Leave the fourth wall alone, Deadpool!)

"Who is he talking-" Bucky mutters to Clint, interrupts himself impatiently then addresses Deadpool directly: "Who the fuck are you talking to, who's _Ali_?"

"Don't even bother trying to make sense of the things he says." Clint sighs, resignedly. "Bucky, this is Wade Wilson, better known as Deadpool, he's..." he searches for the right words, "I _wanna_ say he's one of the good guys, but mostly, he's just... really..." he trails off, gesturing vaguely at Deadpool's whole getup.

[Aw Hawkguy, you say the nicest things!]

Deadpool squees, clasping his sopping hands before him and kicking back one leg in comic-esque delight before blowing the archer a kiss and -somehow!- winking his mask's eye exaggeratedly.

{ **Ali** , you're looking awfully tense over there. Am I interrupting your **slow-burn Winterhawk** fic?}

Bucky's eyebrows rise high, ' _Winterhawk?_ ' he mouths at Clint. Deadpool catches him in the mirror.

[It's what you get when you smoosh together 'Winter Soldier' and 'Hawkeye']

he stage-whispers.

"But..." Bucky trails off and Clint can practically see the cogs turning inside his head. "But why?" he asks at long last.

[ _Because!_ ]

Deadpool exclaims, and Clint isn't sure he wants to know where the 1:6, true-to-scale action figures of Bucky and himself have come from that Deadpool is now brandishing,

[she wants to see Winter Soldier and Hawkeye smooshed together!]

With an impressive range of kissing noises, Deadpool pushes the figures heads together:

[Oh Clint, you are just as damaged as I am, let me suck your magical healing cock to make everything better!]

he intones, moving the dolls accordingly.

[Yes, Bucky, I've always been so attracted to the sloppy way you apply eye-makeup, I can't wait to put this vibrating arrow up your ass]

he adds in a falsetto that Clint takes more offence to than the rude puppet show.

"Can we please go back to the part where I was about to stab him?" Bucky asks Clint, a slightly hysterical note to his voice.

[Noooo!]

predictably fearless, Deadpool throws his wet, doll-holding arms around Bucky's neck like a swooning damsel. Bucky grasps his hips, half to push him off but mostly to keep his own balance.

[Don't stab me, I have so much to give! I can't die before I've seen the Black Widow movie!]

"Won't work" Clint pinches the bridge of his nose. "Believe me, I've tried. Brief satisfaction but he just gets right up again. _Don't-!_ " he holds a hand up to stop Deadpool from replying "No innuendo."

[ _In-ur-end-tho'?_ But I hardly know-]

(That is ENOUGH, Deadpool! _Please_ , leave my story alone. I've been trying really hard not to get involved until now. Just. Please go play somewhere else.)

{You'll never get these two idiots to **fuck** each other without my help.}

(Yes, I will.)

"JARVIS, who is he _talking_ to?!" Bucky is looking around nervously, pushing Deadpool away harshly and reaching for the hidden knives.

"It has been observed that Mister Wilson lives under the assumption that some kind of omniscient being steers and narrates all of our existence, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS supplies helpfully.

{Like **fuck** you will. You can't even make them kiss without getting the **Black Widow** involved!}

"Woah there, keep Natasha out of this!" Clint interrupts the lunatic who's turned to argue with... the hand dryer? It's difficult to follow the line of sight of those large white eye-shapes on Deadpool's mask.

"Like what, God or something?" Bucky twirls a knife in agitation. Clint can see the large wet spot Deadpool's hands have left around his shoulders.

{Heh. **Wet spot.** }

Clint shudders, refusing to consider that Deadpool can read his mind.

{Definitely no God. Just a **writer** who bit off a bit more than she could chew by agreeing to create a few too many **multiverse versions** of the three of you **bangin'** each other's brains out in varying constellations.}

"Three of us?" Bucky asks, simultaneously to Clint's questioning: " _bangin'_?"

[I've got just one overly convoluted portmanteau for you, friend: WinterWidowHawkFest]

Deadpool replies easily, managing to give the impression of suggestively wiggling eyebrows despite the fact of not having any.

[And yes, _bangin'_. She isn't overly fond of the word fuck for some reason. Despite its unrivalled versatility.]

(Oh my God! Shut up!)

{Don't pretend to be such a goody two shoes. I've seen your AO3 history. You need a **prayer circle**.}

(Please, for the love of fan fiction, what will it take for you to SHUT UP!?)

Clint and Bucky exchange glances that confirm neither of them know what the hell Deadpool is on about.

(Small mercies.)

{Who's breaking the fourth wall now?}

(Fuck off.)

Deadpool starts laughing delightedly, hopping up onto the edge of the row of sinks. Placing the Hawkeye doll in an observer's position with his back against the mirror, he produces a third, red-haired puppet with unlikely proportions.

[Oh James]

he breathes in a porn-inspired voice,

[you are so handsome and depressed. Let's speak Russian and exchange pining glances before getting all kinky on each other!]

(I hate you so much.)

"I hate you so much," Clint says.

Bucky's murderous stare holds the same sentiment.

(Seriously, what will it take to make you leave me and my fic alone?)

{A **ponicorn** }

Deadpool says, dangling his legs and kicking idly as he arranges the Natasha doll to bend forward over the faucet. He's humming " _I'm a barbie girl_ " to himself as he stands the Bucky doll behind her with obvious intentions.

(A what?)

"A what?" says Clint, contemplating whether he should stop Bucky, who is bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly ready to attempt murder, regardless of whether it will stick.

{Is there an echo in here?}

(Is that a creepy porn thing?)

{Strangely enough: no. I want a pony-unicorn. A Ponicorn.}

(If I give you a ponicorn, will you leave my story alone?)

{Pinky promise.}

(And you won't do anything to the poor thing that'd make me cry if I knew about it?)

{Only tears of joy.}

"Do you also get the feeling that we are missing out on vital parts of a conversation here?" Bucky whispers in Clint's direction. He appears decidedly twitchy. It's not his favourite look on a man with a wicked-looking knife in each hand, Clint thinks.

(I'm going to regret this.)

Deadpool bats lashes he most definitely doesn't have. Not even under the mask.

{I'll make it real good for you, baby, trust me.}

Doll Bucky's hand gives Doll Natasha's bottom a sharp smack before resuming to pump his hips.

(achh I just threw up in my mouth a little.)

Bucky and Clint make disgusted and retching noises respectively. Clint lunges to swipe the dolls.

[Hah! See? He totally wants in on the action! This'll end up with a _WinterWidowHawk_ tag after all!]

Deadpool rejoices, jumping off the sink and pirouetting away. Where the short pink tutu came from that frames his hips for the single moment is anyone's guess.

Suddenly a shifting, reality-altering sensation throws everybody off kilter for a brief instant. A scent like the love-child of strawberries and a cable fire permeates the air-

{That's my **kink**.}

(Shut. It.)  
-and a single knock on the hallway door, followed by a rasping noise.

Every so slowly, the door is bumped open, and in the crack something phallic pushes through, followed by a shock of hair. Too baffled to be hesitant, Clint pulls open the door to reveal a pony-sized unicorn. Its twisted horn shimmers softly like polished ivory, even in the unforgiving light of the men's room. Both mane and tail are like spun sunlight, golden and ever-changing with each movement, its coat of a black so all-encompassing, the errant rays of light catching on its contours warp in on themselves in colourful auras.

Deadpool clasps both hands to the sides of his face and goes

[meep!]

at an impressive volume. Small, pulsing hearts appear where Clint would expect pupils should be.

[Sweet Stan Lee on a skycycle! I love it!]

Bucky exchanges equally puzzled glances with Clint, but at this point, they've passed good old confusion about two exits back. Slowly, he pockets his knives. _Huh,_ thinks Clint, _so that's where he hid those._

{I'm not gonna pretend this wasn't **fun** }

Deadpool says, slapping himself in the face to get his eyes back to normal and poking his fingers through the little hearts around his head to pop them like soap bubbles.

{So I'm gonna do something for you as well.}

(Please don't, I'm already worried by the idea.)

The ponicorn neighs most adorably and paws the ground with a sparkly golden hoof. Deadpool says

[meep]

again. He stumbles forward to get to the animal, trip-pushing an unsuspecting Clint out of the way, who, off-balance, is propelled into Bucky's arms. Instinctively, they cling to each other to stay upright.  
Swallowing hard, Clint finds his face mere inches away from Bucky's. His eyes twitch down to the other man's lips and, mildly embarrassed, away again just as quickly. Before either of them can react, each feels a -still vaguely damp- hand at the back of their heads, pushing their faces insistently towards each other.

[Now kiiiiiiiiiss!]

Deadpool whispers and it's like, not creepy _at all._

{Hey! Stow the sarcasm! This is in no way less subtle than what you had in mind!}

"I still don't understand who he's talking to," Bucky objects, almost unintelligible, as his mouth is being pressed firmly against Clint's.

"I no longer care," Clint replies, just as muffled, "this is one of the more entertaining multiverse scenarios. At least nobody is shooting at us this time." Moving his lips against Bucky's for this much dialogue almost feels like kissing, he thinks. "Why not enjoy it while it lasts." He draws the words out for maximum lip-contact and elbows Deadpool in the gut to make him let go, returning their autonomy. As soon as the hands disappear from their heads, he kisses Bucky in earnest.

With a surprised noise not all that unlike Deadpool's earlier delight at the ponicorn, Bucky stills, then closes his eyes and returns the kiss.

{I told you you'd love it.}

(Yeah alright. That was more than unlikely to work, though.)

{But it did.}

He sounds smug.

(But it did.)

{Your **beta** is going to be so happy with this turn of events.}

(Shut up, Wade. Or I'm taking your ponicorn.)

Deadpool mimes zipping the place where his mouth should be. Then he points towards the door.

Just behind the beautiful ponicorn, Natasha Romanoff has appeared in the hallway. It seems she came to help with whatever strange situation was occurring on the 89th floor. Right now however, her loaded gun is pointed safely at the ground and her attention is rather focused on the two men still kissing. Bucky's hands have begun to wander - Clint's are still holding on to one Bucky and one Natasha action figure. Her eyes are wide, but in no way does she seem put off by the display.

Deadpool's fingers are making a victory V while his other hand holds up a picket sign with no indication where it may have come from:

[ **The End** ]


End file.
